


Parental Guidance

by Liu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Leonard Snart waits in front of his son's school, his only goal is to find the parent of the kid that bullies his child and put an end to it. He doesn't quite expect the father of the supposed bully to be a cute, lanky dork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parental Guidance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr, requesting 'parents meeting while taking kids to school' AU.

Len ignores the wary looks that fly his way as he lies in wait in front of the school. He’s going to solve this problem once and for all, and if half the parents end up thinking he’s some creep, so be it.

“Dad… can you just go? Please?” Lincoln asks, pushing his huge glasses up his tiny nose. He’s visibly nervous, face gone pale and eyes darting around as if he’s expecting the world to come crashing around him – and maybe he is. Len hates putting his son through this, but Linc has come home upset far too many times for Len to let it go just like that.

“I can’t,” he huffs, scowling at his son. “Not gonna let some little jerk push you around, you got that?”

“You’ll just make it worse,” Linc sighs, but obediently leans against the wall next to Len, rubbing his tiny, bony arm with his hand. Len will never know how come his genes have produced a child this shy and nervous and _good_ , but he’ll be damned if he lets some nine-year-old asshole bully the goodness out of his little nerd.

It takes twenty more minutes, in which two passing teachers and the school nurse demand an ID from Len and ask Lincoln if he’s okay. But finally, a car that pulls up to the school lets out the child Len is waiting for. Well, not so much the child as the parent – but the man who steps out of the bright red Prius is not at all the way Len imagined him.

“That’s Hank,” Lincoln mumbles and Len puts a hand on his shoulder, half to offer support and half to keep him from running off. The kid needs to be there, not hiding in whatever hole he thinks will keep him safe. No – that’s _Len’s_ job, keeping his child from harm, and he went into this fully confident that he could take any beefy idiot who would raise a bully like Hank Allen.

Surprisingly, the ‘beefy idiot’ turns out to be about a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, a tall, lanky man who looks like an older brother more than a father. Len doesn’t let himself be fooled by  the innocent look and stalks towards the car, half-dragging, half-pushing Lincoln to move with him.

“Mr. Allen?” he barks, and the tall man visibly shrinks. His eyes go wide – and they’re pretty eyes, not that Len lets himself think about that, considering his mission here.

He expects a fight, but Allen merely sighs and rubs a bony hand over his face.

“Whoever you are, whatever Hank’s done, I’ll pay for it, alright?”

That throws Len off, but he regroups and scowls even fiercer:

“This is not about money, Allen. Your child is a menace, and he should be kept on a leash. Do you know how many times my son has come home in tears?! What kind of a father are you that you can’t teach your kid some manners, huh?!”

The little asshole by Allen’s side sneers and crosses his arms over his chest. Len has to admit, he expected the kid to be bigger – he’s got an inch or two on Linc, but he’s just as lanky and awkward, except that there’s a look of sheer determination and child-like defiance in his eyes.

“What?” Allen yelps and looks at his kid, disappointment and worry clearly written on his face. “Hank, is that true…?”

“No,” Hank huffs, but it’s pretty clear even he doesn’t believe the lie.

“Of course it’s true, do you think I stand around the school for any tall tale I hear?” Len snaps.

Hank glares, and he doesn’t look scared at all.

“Maybe you’re some stupid pedo,” he grumbles, and Allen’s face contorts in what looks like a mixture of horror and amusement.

“Hank, language,” he sighs, and Len can see that the guy is definitely not doing well with the whole parenting thing. Figures, considering his kid thinks it’s funny to push other children around and make fun of them.

“This gotta stop,” Len snarls, addressing the little delinquent directly, since it’s no use trying to talk to the father. Cute, but useless… what a shame. “Stop picking on my son or there will be consequences, you got me?”

“Are you threatening my son?!” Allen snaps, and finally there’s some sort of a spark underneath that weary exterior. Len doesn’t know why that brings him satisfaction when he should be focusing on the problem at hand, but he steps closer to the guy with a menacing look:

“I am. Set your kid straight. I’m not letting my son be scared of school.”

“Dad,” Linc pipes up and tugs at Len’s shirt, but Len’s too busy staring Allen in the eye. There’s a flash of something between them, a spark, but then Allen looks away and the moment is gone.

“Look… I’m sorry, for whatever Hank’s done,” he says, and earns a minor point in his favor for addressing the apology to Linc (who shrinks away and looks like he’s gonna pass out, but Len can’t hold that against Allen when Linc’s got a similar reaction to nurses, loud sounds and sports in general). “Why don’t you come over to our house this afternoon, say, around five, and we can talk about it, sort this out? I’m sure we can solve the problem in peace.”

He doesn’t look sure at all, and Len severely doubts the ‘peace’ part as well, but even he has to admit that threatening a nine-year-old is a bit below his standards. Also, not likely to be effective in the long run.

“Deal,” he snarls, and delights in the way Allen winces a bit before he rattles off an address in one of the better neighborhoods of the city. He ignores Linc’s soft ‘oh, no’ as Allen and his hellion of a son walk away, and crouches down to be at his kid’s eye level.

“Listen to me, Linc, keep your head up and we’ll get this sorted out, alright? Now go get yourself another star sticker, yeah?”

Linc bites his bottom lip and then wraps his arms around Len’s neck real quick, like he needs a hug but is embarrassed about letting it go on for too long, the way only nine-year-old boys can be. Len gives him an encouraging smile and watches his kid shuffle inside the school building.

The afternoon’s definitely gonna be interesting.

…

“Dad…”

“The answer’s still yes, Linc, we have to,” Len sighs – he doesn’t want to lose patience with the boy, but being asked whether they really have to go to the Allens’ house a dozen times on the half-hour ride is wearing Len’s nerves thin.

“But why?” Linc groans miserably, adjusting his glasses. “Hank didn’t push me today. He just said stuff. And he says stuff to everyone. It’s okay now, Dad, really, I promise-“

“We’re going,” Len cuts the tirade short and parks the car in the driveway of a nondescript suburban house. He wishes, for a moment, that he could afford to give his kid this kind of a start, with a nice house, a big room, a backyard to play in. Well. Read in, most likely, knowing Linc. Who looks ready to bolt, if only he didn’t hate running: for once, his son’s distaste for athletics works to Len’s advantage.

“Linc. I’m here with you. Nothing to be afraid of, alright? Hank’s just a boy, like you.”

“He’s nothing like me,” Linc mumbles, but he sounds more unhappy and resigned than defiant, so Len reaches out and squeezes his son’s hand for a moment.

“I’m here,” he repeats, and Linc gives him a small nod after a moment. The faith the kid has in him is humbling, and Len resolves to deliver while he can. He’s not naïve enough to think that he’ll be able to protect Linc for much longer – the older the kid gets, the harder it’s gonna be for Len to keep up, to keep Linc away from harm. But he refuses to yield just yet, so he climbs out of the car and waits for his son (who is dragging his feet so hard he’d be going backwards if he went any slower).

The door opens about ten seconds after Len rings the doorbell, and Allen Senior appears – if it’s even possible to attach the word ‘Senior’ to a guy who looks like a freshman in college. He’s a bit flustered, cheeks pink and eyes bright, breathing a bit hard, and Len swallows, making a mental oath to himself. It goes like this: _I will not find the father of the bully of my child attractive. I. Will. NOT._

Chances that there’s another bi single dad around are nonexistent, anyway.

“Hello,” Len says, and Allen seems to catch his breath enough to respond. He gives them a bright smile, as if he’s forgotten why they’re here, and steps away from the door, waving them in:

“Welcome. Mr. Snart. Lincoln. We’ve got some lemonade, and apple pie, would you like some?”

“Yes, thank you,” Len says, because Lincoln looks like he could do with some sugar in his system, and because it would serve their purpose to show the kids that their fathers can be civil to each other and politely enjoy a minute of each other’s company.

Yeah. Nothing to do with the way Allen’s thin shirt clings to the center of his chest.

They are shown into a cozy, warm living room with lots of sunlight and various trinkets that betray a woman’s hand in the decoration process. Len knows, because he’s had a fight with Lisa about the amount of throw pillows necessary for a couch _so many times_. They sink into the sofa, side by side, Linc maybe a bit closer than he would sit if he were comfortable with the situation, but Len doesn’t comment on it, just waits for Allen to reappear. When he does, it’s with a tray, and the pie smells wonderful, steaming hot and delicious.

“Fresh out of the oven,” Allen chirps as he distributes the plates and the tall glasses of lemonade – the cheerfulness sounds a little forced, but Len doesn’t call him on it.

“Your wife gonna join us?” Len asks, as casually as he can: Linc throws him a look, and the kid’s too damn perceptive for his age.

Allen’s face falls a little.

“Oh. I- uh. No. I mean, I don’t have- well I _had_ one, obviously, but now, it’s just me and Hank.”

He’s cute when he’s all flustered, and Len can’t even find it in himself to fight that thought.

“So you’re the family baker?” he smirks (and ignores Linc’s quiet whine. The kid’s gonna have to learn to handle bullies _and_ his father’s flirting, one day).

Allen brightens and nods.

“Yeah – I mean, it’s not that different from work, you know?”

“Oh? And what do you do?”

“Forensic scientist.”

Len blinks.

“Baking a pie… is like scraping evidence off dead bodies?”

Allen’s eyes widen comically and he shakes his head immediately: “No! I meant – it’s chemistry, you know? So it’s… well, I guess it’s not very much like my work. Don’t worry, there’s nothing weird in the pie, I promise.”

“Are you sure? Now I don’t know if we should’ve accepted the invitation after all, since you seem to have experience in how to hide bodies,” Len teases, and Allen looks so worried that he almost feels sorry for him.

Surprisingly, it’s Linc who speaks up (well, whispers up, but that’s as good as it gets sometimes, with this kid).

“Dad… you said teasing people wasn’t nice.”

Schooled by his own kid. Len sighs – he doesn’t have the time to get into a debate about the difference between joking and being mean, so he turns to Allen again and puts on his most sincere smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Allen smiles back, just a little, but Len, weirdly enough, feels like the apology might’ve been worth it.

But they’re not here to bridge the differences between the parents – Len shakes himself out of the mild daze caused by the way Allen’s face lights up with a smile, and he raises an eyebrow:

“So where’s Hank?”

Allen’s expression withers and he sits down in the worn-out, cozy-looking armchair, running a hand over his messy hair.

“He’s… well. We had a talk when he got back from school. And now he’s… not so happy about some things. But if you wait just a bit, I’ll try getting him down from that tree again,” he perks up a bit, like he’s eager to please, and Len doesn’t let his mind wander in dangerous directions, he just doesn’t.

He glances at the tray with the pie and smirks.

“How about we enjoy the sweets outside, then, while we wait? Shouldn’t be all cooped up in the house, on such a lovely day.”

Allen looks confused for about two seconds, but he catches on eventually and brightens:

“Sure! That’s, wow, that might actually work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Len smirks and moves to get the tray. “Lead the way.”

Turns out the backyard is as nice as Len imagined it, spacious enough for a few trees, a small veggie garden and a small lawn. Enough for a kid to play in – and apparently enough for a kid to find a hiding spot in the tallest tree, on what looks like a makeshift treehouse, or at least the beginnings of one. There’s a messy head and a glare peeking out from the branches, but Len ignores the kid, making a production out of setting the tray on the small wooden table with some chairs around it.

Linc looks at the sky as if he’s worried he’ll get skin cancer from ten minutes in the sun, but eventually he settles behind the table, the incentive of fresh pie enough to put him at relative ease at least for the moment. They eat the pie in silence, broken only by occasional compliments Len extends, courtesy of Allen’s baking skills. At some point, he says ‘Mr. Allen’ and the guy gives him another of his happy grins, shaking his head, and asks to be called ‘Barry’. It’s the image of domestic bliss, except they’re not really a family, and an occasional angry rustle from the tree nearby reminds them of the original purpose of this visit. But it’s not until Len leans back and declares that he would very much like to take the rest of the pie home with them, if only Barry would be okay with it, that the rustling increases and in about five seconds, there’s a dull thud of feet landing in grass, and a boy who looks like an angry cat stalks up to the table.

“That’s not fair! You don’t even live here – Dad, you’re not gonna give them all the pie, are you?!”

He sounds as betrayed as only a kid denied sweets can be, and Len smirks, glancing at Barry, wondering whether he’ll handle this better than he did in front of the school.

“I don’t know, Hank,” Barry sighs, a little too theatrically, but it seems to work anyway, because Hank’s little hands curl into fists at his sides. “We had a deal, remember? Something about you saying some things…”

“I don’t want to!” Hank yells and stomps his ratty sneaker down on the ground. “They just think I’m bad, so why should I say anything!”

Barry opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Len turns to the kid himself.

“You know what? I do think that,” he nods, and ignores Barry’s shocked, offended gasp, focusing on the huffing wet cat of a boy in front of him. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I used to be a bad kid myself. And the thing about being a bad kid is, when you figure out you’re doing bad things, hurting others, you can say sorry. You can be better, and show the people who thought you were all bad that they’re stupid for thinking so.”

He glances at Barry, who’s looking half-impressed and half like he wants to scold Len for language. Hank is quiet for a while, and he stares at Len in a way that’s more defiance and anger than understanding. But Len knows how that feels, clinging to anger in defense of himself, so he waits it out, and sure enough, Hank deflates after a minute, glancing down and kicking at the grass underneath his feet.

“I’m not bad,” he grunts, and that’s a step in the right direction, Len thinks. “I didn’t wanna hurt anyone, okay? It was all accidents.”

Len’s not sure if that’s sincere, or just an excuse, so he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“What about the time Lincoln came home with a black eye?”

“Accident!” Hank snaps, glancing up at Len with a scowl. “How could I know he would freeze and close his eyes when a ball was flying to his face?!”

Okay, Len feels like a horrible parent in that second, but he really wants to sigh and tell Hank he’s been there. He looks at Linc instead, raising an eyebrow in silent question: Linc’s lip trembles a bit, and he’s resolutely not looking at Hank, but he manages to speak up anyway.

“He kept throwing balls at me, anyway.”

“I thought you had to _catch_ one, someday!”

Len really wants to laugh now, but his son has been coming home from school genuinely distressed and he refuses to take amusement out of his child’s suffering, however ridiculous the situation is.

“What about the name-calling?” he asks, and Hank snorts:

“I call everyone names. Like… frog leg. Or chicken butt.”

“Henry!” Barry yelps, but his kid only rolls his eyes:

“Butt is not even a bad word, Dad. Everybody’s got a butt, right?”

Len sniggers then, thinking what kinda ‘language’ trouble that’s gonna cause the Allen family once Henry figures all the other words naming parts that people have on them. Barry shoots him a tired glare, then focuses on his son.

“Why would you call people names? I thought we talked about this. It’s not nice.”

“Yeah, but it makes people laugh, okay?” Henry rolls his eyes again. “I like when people laugh. And, like, Linc never does.”

Now that’s a surprising turn of events, Len thinks. He blinks at the kid, who still looks all huffy and irritated, but Linc beats him to it and opens his mouth first.

“You wanted to make _me_ laugh?”

Hank glares up, and Len thinks his son’s gonna avert his eyes, but Linc actually stares back. Len sends a prayer to whatever deity might be listening that the next words out of Hank’s mouth won’t be some scathing insult, but all the kid ends up grumbling is ‘duh’.

“That’s stupid,” Linc mumbles, and Len raises an eyebrow at his kid:

“Don’t you think you shouldn’t be saying that kinda stuff if you want Hank here to stop saying it to _you_?”

“I never said he was stupid,” Hank grumbles. “He’s such a nerd, obviously he’s not stupid. Just. Nerdy. And sad.”

“I’m not _sad_ ,” Linc snaps before Len can get worried. “I was trying to be invisible, so that you would leave me alone!”

“Well I just wanted to make you laugh, just once!” Hank yells and then bolts towards the house. The three of them stare after him for a moment, but he doesn’t come back.

“Well,” Barry sighs. “More pie?”

“Do you have any flavor that goes with ‘your son is socially stunted’?” Len asks sweetly, and Barry frowns:

“He’s not- he is, isn’t he,” he groans and buries his face in his hands. “Where did I go wrong?”

“Not enough books?” Linc suggests, and Len snickers, because of course that’s Linc’s solution to everything – books. He loves his son dearly, but he can’t help but wonder if he shouldn’t have taught the kid how to catch a ball without letting it hit him square in the face.

Not that he didn’t try before.

Barry, fortunately, laughs at Linc’s words, and shrugs:

“I should’ve known something was wrong when he liked Darth Vader better than any Jedi,” he jokes, and Linc raises an eyebrow:

“He likes Star Wars?”

“Yeah,” Barry smiles. “He has the books, too, even though he hasn’t read them so far. Maybe if you go find him, he’ll show you?”

Len thinks that might be a bit too much for his son, whose face goes white for a second, but then, with a steadying glance Len’s way, Linc actually nods a little bit.

“Maybe… next time?”

The look he gives his empty plate is enough to convince Len they will be coming back – his kid for the pie and the books, and Len… well. The pie wasn’t half-bad.

“Next time,” Barry agrees, and when he glances up to meet Len’s eyes, it feels like Len might be coming back for more than just pie, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
